


What Shadows We Are

by Canaanation



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Gen, Mentions of Violence, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-18
Updated: 2020-03-18
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:54:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23191963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Canaanation/pseuds/Canaanation
Summary: The dirty work of a Double-Oh is never done.Contains spoilers for Talk to Me.
Comments: 5
Kudos: 21





	What Shadows We Are

**Author's Note:**

  * For [zebraljb](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zebraljb/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Talk to Me](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16716233) by [zebraljb](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zebraljb/pseuds/zebraljb). 



> The Speak Love series is one of my all-time favourites, and zebraljb is an incredible author. This is the result of binging her stories for 1 week straight.  
> Contains spoilers for Talk to Me.

“I have to say, this is the first time I’ve been instructed to dispose of bodies where they would be found.”

Bond looks over at his companion and allows himself a small smile. “Don’t I take you on the best dates.”

The blonde woman rolls her eyes as she puts one booted foot against the lifeless lump that was once Poodle and pushes it into the gutter running the length of the alley. The corpse flops out of the non-descript van with the grace of a sack of flour. “If this is your idea of a date, Bond, it’s no wonder you’re single. You should have beaten these bastards more. There’s no way they were mugged.” She gives Poodle a post-mortem kick in the ribs that isn’t nearly as satisfying as Bond knows it would be had he been alive.

“Couldn’t risk Ian getting evidence on him, or I’d have let him.” Grunting, he shoves Rottie on top of Poodle and wipes his hands on his pants. Both of the living are dressed in dark clothing that blends into the alley shadows, even if the likelihood of them being seen is next to nothing. They wear knit caps to cover their light hair, and the woman has taken the precaution to add a bulky jacket and too-large boots. Even if they are seen, they can’t be identified as two of England’s most valuable spies.

“Then you should have called me earlier,” the woman complains. She squats on her haunches beside the mound of bodies and sticks her fingers unceremoniously into the pockets, searching for a wallet. “This is far better than these assholes deserve. You saw their records, didn’t you? I know I had qix send them to you, but did you actually bloody read them? Eggsy’s fucking lucky he just got the shit beaten out of him!”

Bond holds out a gloved hand for the wallet she empties, leaving only photo ID. She deposits the flattened leather there and goes looking for another. He glances at the ID and snorts. No wonder Rottie went by his nickname instead of Bernard Miller; no one would be intimidated by that name. “I read them, Renée,” he says sharply, his jaw tight around the words. Of course he had; it is as ingrained in him as a spy as it is to check any room he enters for possible exits and hiding places.

Renée hisses some more curses under her breath as she rids what had been Poodle and Rottie of their bank cards, credit cards, cash, and cheap jewelry. “I like Eggsy Unwin,” she says and hands Bond another empty wallet, “which is why I wish you’d let me in on this private mission of yours. But no, you tried to hijack my Q first.”

“I had to have her cover my signal during this escapade,” he defends. He stands and throws the depleted wallets onto the heap without caring where they land.

“And now she’s covering both of ours.” She dusts her hands on her bulky coat. “Our records say we’re on decompression at my flat. The false reads will show some rigorous bedroom gymnastics - per your usual post-mission pattern - and then both of us out like lights. After I’ve gotten myself off, of course.”

“One time, and you won’t let me forget it.”

She grunts as she kicks each corpse once more for good measure. “I hope Satan’s pitchfork is nice and sharp when he shoves it up your arses,” she mutters.

Twenty minutes later, they’ve ditched the van and disguises and stand on the balcony of a flat that would have dropped Eggsy’s jaw. Renée looks across the cityscape to the Merlin Software offices. Bond leans beside her, partially shielding her from the wind that whistles between the buildings. Silence stretches between them as one by one, the lights at Merlin Software go out.

“I should be going,” Renée says after a long time. “My partner is very particular about how long I’m with you. I don’t know why. It’s almost like she thinks you’re a threat.”

He chuckles. “You might remind her that I have an open invitation to take either of you to bed.” He leads her back to the door of the flat. “Thank you for your help, Double-Oh-Nine.”

She smiles, shrugging into her jacket. “Always a pleasure, Double-Oh-Seven.” She leans in to press a kiss to his cheek. “Look after Ian and Eggsy for me, will you? I’ve been meaning to get hold of Harry and invite him to dinner. For old times’ sake.”

Bond watches her blonde hair disappear down the corridor outside the flat. The dull ache in his chest isn’t entirely unfamiliar, but he hasn’t felt it in a long time. Not since a dark-haired woman with blue eyes. He closes the door to shrug out of his clothes and enjoy the mental image of Renée and her partner - qix, her assigned Q - rolling around in bed, naked and glorious. And to wonder if he will ever accept the invitation to join them.


End file.
